


and I can't stop when it comes to you

by ohmcgee



Series: little beasts [29]
Category: Batman (Comics), DCU (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Assassins & Hitmen, M/M, Recreational Drug Use, curtain fic for the psychopathic killers in your life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-03
Updated: 2015-10-03
Packaged: 2018-04-24 15:59:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,392
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4925953
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohmcgee/pseuds/ohmcgee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One time Tim sticks around for a whole week.</p>
            </blockquote>





	and I can't stop when it comes to you

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [too many tied to the bang, bang, bang](https://archiveofourown.org/works/4523694) by [likewinning](https://archiveofourown.org/users/likewinning/pseuds/likewinning). 



One time Tim sticks around for a whole week. He somehow tracks Roy down at the place he’s squatting at now, knocks on the door like he’s some kind of _person_ and Roy just laughs when he opens the door.

“Mi casa es su casa,” Roy says, bowing and holding one arm out and Tim just pushes him out of the way, looks around.

“Who’s house is this?” Tim asks after Roy closes the door and Roy just shrugs, bends down and picks up a piece of mail off the floor that’s probably been there for months.

“Jonathan Kenzington the _third’s_ , apparently,” Roy says, tosses the mail back on the floor. “Whoever the rich bastard is, he’s got some pretty nice digs. Upstairs there’s a --”

Roy doesn’t finish because Tim gives him that _look_ , the one that makes him actually shut _up_ , the one that makes him drop down to his knees, get his hands on Tim’s skinny hips and press his face right into his crotch, mouth at him until Tim actually makes a noise and pulls at his hair, looks down at Roy like he’s going to fuck him up if he doesn’t get his mouth on him soon and most of the time Roy doesn’t even know which one he’d rather have.

Still, it’s been awhile since Tim’s come around, since Roy’s been able to tear his jeans open and fill his mouth with the heat and taste and smell of him. He never realizes until Tim shows back up again just how much he’s fucking _missed_ it, the sounds Tim makes for him when he finally lets go, the way his scars feel beneath Roy’s fingertips. Of course, if he ever told Tim anything like that he’d probably get his balls handed to him on a plate, so he doesn’t. He just takes him and takes him and takes him even _more_ until Tim stabs his knife into the counter behind Roy’s head and comes down his throat. 

After, Roy takes Tim upstairs to one of the huge fucking beds, lets Tim rip his clothes off with his knife and carve into him until Roy’s so hard he thinks he might go blind from it, until the fucking egyptian cotton sheets look like a murder scene and all Tim has to do is curl his tiny fingers around Roy’s dick and Roy comes so hard he shakes like he hasn’t had a fix in _months._

 

: : :

 

Roy actually had a few jobs lined up that week, just enough to keep him in coke and pills, but he blows them off to sleep past noon and wake up to Tim eating caviar in the bed next to him, to get fucked on the stairs, on the huge dining room table, to float around in the fucking olympic size pool at three in the morning on pool floats, blizted out of their minds on valium, Tim shooting at the bats that fly over their heads with his glock.

During the day Tim goes through the shit in every room, pocketing things that catch his attention, anything that looks like it might be worth something or could be used as a weapon, tossing the things that don’t matter to him. 

That night they watch Godfather on the huge fucking projector screen in the theater room and drink up all the high dollar scotch in the liquor cabinet and Tim threatens to cut Roy’s trachea out if he doesn’t stop quoting all his favorite parts, but Roy just grins and keeps talking and Tim never does end up killing him.

The day after that Roy’s trying to open a safe they found hidden behind a painting in the dude’s office when he looks at Tim, says, “Hey, I bet you grew up in a place like this, huh?”

“Something like this,” Tim says and he spends the rest of the day shooting Roy’s arrows into every bottle in the wine cellar, slashing every piece of fine art on the walls and smashing anything he can get his hands on until Roy grabs him and shoves him into a china cabinet, kisses him until his mouth bleeds and Tim shoves Roy down to his knees and fucks his face until his eyes go back to something Roy actually knows how to handle, blank and empty instead of wild and terrifying.

 

: : :

 

On Thursday they run out of whatever odds and ends were left in the pantry so Roy runs to the store while Tim sleeps, comes back with chips and frozen burritos, some of those little snack cakes and some olives because he once saw Tim eat a whole fucking jar of them in one sitting after they got high once, and some orange juice because he likes to be _healthy._

Tim eats straight from the jar as soon as he stumbles down into the kitchen, his hair stuck up every which way and creases on the side of his face from the pillow, a hole in his boxers where Roy accidentally dropped some ashes on him last night while they were smoking up in one of the beds they haven’t destroyed yet. 

“How long are you staying here?” Tim asks, his voice still sleep-scratchy and it makes Roy think of how he sounds after he chokes him with his dick, makes him grab himself through his jeans as he waits for the microwave to ding. 

“Dunno,” Roy says. “Snow’s just about gone so the rich fuck will probably come back from Miami or whatever soon.”

Tim just shrugs. “I liked the last one better anyway.”

“The last one,” Roy says. “Used to belong to a meth dealer. The last one had roaches the size of a _pitbull._ ”

“Yeah,” Tim says, looks around at the kitchen, the dining room, at the huge chandelier hanging in the foyer. “I liked it better.”

“Weirdo,” Roy says, digs his lighter out of his jeans, his cigarettes out of his shirt pocket,and lights one up. “Wanna help me get that safe open today or what?”

 

: : :

 

They get the safe open a few hours later and Roy fucks Tim on top of the piles of money, does a couple of lines of coke with one of the rolled up fifties and fucks him again, drags it out _forever_ because he knows -- just like he knows when a mark is about to run, just like he knows he’s down to his last few pills -- that Tim’s gone after this. 

He bends Tim over the desk in the office and maybe he’s high as the fucking _moon_ , but in the back of his mind Roy knows that’s not the only reason it feels this good. It _is_ the reason he can’t keep his fucking mouth shut though, can’t stop telling Tim how fucking good he feels, how goddamn perfect he is, can’t stop watching his cock disappear inside of Tim like it’s the hottest thing he’s ever _seen_.

He drags it out until his cock is so hard he doesn’t know how Tim’s taking it, until the muscles in his thighs are burning, his legs shaking with it. 

“Why won’t you just fuck me?” Tim asks but he’s out of breath too, his arms and back completely flushed, his skin slick and shiny with sweat and Roy can’t help himself, leans down to lick a salty stripe all the way up to Tim’s neck. 

“Babydoll,” Roy says, bites down hard enough on Tim’s shoulder that he feels Tim come around him just from that. “That’s _all_ I want to do.”

 

: : :

 

Roy wakes up the next afternoon to an empty bed, fetches his smokes and pants of the floor and gets up to take a piss, grabs a shower before he walks downstairs to get something to drink and just stands there at the foot of the stairs for a minute, scratching his head.

“We ran out of olives,” Tim says, sitting on the end of the counter with his fingers in a jar. “I got more.”

“Oh,” Roy says groggily, walks up and stands between Tim’s legs, kisses the taste out of his mouth. There’s blood underneath his fingernails, a new split in his lip, but Roy doesn’t say anything about that. “You get me anymore burritos?”

“Nope,” Tim says. “That shit will kill you.”

Roy laughs so hard he _chokes._


End file.
